


The North Remembers

by KaisaSegher



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fix-It, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Finale, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 19:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18901228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaisaSegher/pseuds/KaisaSegher
Summary: A few moons after she's crowned Queen in the North, Sansa goes to Castle Black again to find Jon Snow.





	The North Remembers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Darksister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darksister/gifts).



> This was a request by @snowysansastark on tumblr:  
> Could you pls do a fic of Sansa pardoning Jon as she has power as QitN and she welcomes him home
> 
> I hope you enjoy it. I'm still not over the finale and this real helped me deal with it! Also, it's smut-free. I know, shocking coming from me.

She wasn’t supposed to be there. And she knew it. Dozens of crows with their eyes fixed on her, probably the first woman to visit in moons now the wildlings had gone back to the North – the real North, as Tormund Giantsbane called it - made sure she knew she wasn't welcome. It occurred to her briefly, as her boots avoided a small bud of something, that maybe the Watch wasn’t needed anymore. The dead were gone forever. What did they watch over now, then?

But without a Night’s Watch what would many men do with their lives? Or what would happen to criminals? Well, maybe that was her brother’s problem now, not hers.

She still had some power here, though. And she intended to use it.

Many, many, many moons ago she had crossed those gates, freezing and shaking with Lady Brienne by her side. Today the sun shone high in the sky, warming her cheeks, and she had ridden there with a few man behind her back.

He was no longer Lord Commander. He couldn’t be. Not after killing the queen. Not after committing treason.

But he hugged her with the same fierceness as he had that other time, a lifetime ago. And she buried her nose in his neck just the same way, her arms tight around his shoulders as he lifted her in the air and spun her around and mumbled her name in her ear.

She was queen now. She was the Queen in the North now, not some frightened little girl escaping her abusing husband.

And yet she hadn’t felt much queenly when he had run to her arms. And she didn’t feel much queenly now, sitting by the fire with a mug of ale in her hands.

“It didn’t improve one bit.” She curled her lip, twirling the mug between her hands. “Your hair is shorter.”

“Aye, the days are warmer now” he said, taking another sip from his drink.

If she squinted her eyes... If she squinted her eyes just a little bit she could pretend nothing had changed. That they were still at Winterfell on those days after conquering it and before the Dragon Queen summoned Jon south. Those days had been simple enough, drinking ale by the fire while discussing food supplies and what castle they should give to what lord or lady. Those days had even been kind of happy.

And then everything had changed.

“It suits you” she mumbled, taking a large gulp. Maybe that would give her the courage.

He laughed, his hand curling around hers over her knee. She felt her cheeks warm, but the fire wasn’t that close.

“I… I, hmm-” Jon cleared his throat “I like your dress. Did you make it yourself?”

She beamed at him before she could avoid it.

“I did! Though it doesn’t have any wolf bits, I’m afraid.”

Jon laughed, and so did she.

How could she have lived without him for so long? The same day they had crowned her a raven from Castle Black had arrived, informing her her cousin was leaving the Wall to escort the Free Folk back to their homes. How she hadn’t gone mad with worry until another raven informed of his safe return she didn’t knew.

At least Arya had the decency to send a raven every moon’s turn – still not enough, by Sansa’s standards. Once she was back home Sansa would tell her a thing or two.

And Sansa’s ‘little birds’ at King’s Landing informed her of Bran’s every step. Or sometimes Bran just warged into someone from her household and spoke with her himself. That was kind of frightening at first. It still was.

“Well, I like the red leafs” Jon jested, toying with the long sleeves.

“I wore it the day of the coronation” she mumbled, her eyes on her feet.

Jon sighed, releasing the fabric.

“It must have been a great day.”

“It wasn’t. Not really” Sansa almost scoffed, her heart sinking in her chest. “None of you were there. That’s how she felt when they crowned her, I guess.”

He frowned, and his jaw stiffened.

“She was never crowned. I killed her before anyone had the chance.”

It was Sansa’s turn to clutch his hand, and give it a gentle squeeze.

He had done the right thing. He had done the right thing and he had been punished and was still punishing himself for it. Jaime Lannister had done just the same and they had let him keep his position for years, even under a different king. Even though they called him Kingslayer.

But the world wasn’t fair.

“I meant Cersei. But you did what needed to be done, Jon. She would have murdered thousands, had she lived.” She gulped, and so did he. “She would have killed you.”

Jon’s eyes were finally on hers.

“And then Arya would have killed her. So the result would have been the same, you see?” Sansa tried to lighten the mood.

He gave a short laugh, and his eyes were on his lap once more. But his thumb was caressing the back of her hand, almost on its own accord. And she wouldn’t release him either. She had to tell him, though. Maybe he was happy with this life. Maybe he just wanted to spend the rest of his years walking down the Wall and back and forth from the villages of the Free Folk and Castle Black, with Ghost by his side.

But she had to tell him.

Sansa straightened her shoulders, her mug long forgotten at the table at her left.

“The northern lords don’t accept the fate they forced on you” she finally spat out.

“Well, it’s not really their business, is it?” Jon scoffed, shrugging.

He release her hand to take another gulp from his ale. And she felt terribly empty.

Just as empty as when he rode south. Both times.

But anger, hot anger, boiled in her chest instead.

“Nor is it of those who passed your sentence, since they’re not here anymore, are they?” Sansa growled, standing up so fast she almost threw her chair back.

He stood up almost just as fast.

“You were one of those who said you had no choice!” Jon roared, waving his hand towards her.

“And I hadn’t!” she shouted, crossing her arms over her chest, trying to protect herself. “Not back then, not with an army of Unsullied and Dothraki threatening our family and our home.”

He was panting, his fists closed tight at his sides, his brow furrowed as he looked away from her.

She was panting too.

Why did he never listen to her?

“Sansa, I’ve accepted my punishment. I’m as happy with it as I could be” he muttered between gritted teeth, his jaw tense.

“Jon” she tried, with a calmer tone.

He was still wheezing, looking at the stones under their feet.

She caught his wrist, forcing him to look at her.

“Jon, listen to me.” He sighed again, his eyes on her hand. “Jon, please.”

His dark eyes finally found her. But there was a sadness there. Such a deep sadness.

This wasn’t his place. This had never been. He was ready to leave when she finally found him and asked him to fight for her cause. _Their_ cause. And he had fought, and fought, and fought. The living, the dead. Ice and fire. And what for? What for, in the end?

_What for?_

“The northern lords want you to come back. They want the king they chose for the North to be in the North” she told him, and his eyes were blown wide now. “Sit down.”

Jon did, as if he wasn’t in control of his own body.

“But you’re their queen now. They chose you” he all but whined.

“They did and I am” she agreed, nodding. “But they can’t wrap their heads around the fact that the man that saved their lives _twice_ is wasting away at the Wall. And neither can I.”

He shook his head.

“Sansa, that cannot be. Bran passed the sentence-“

“Bran isn’t your king” she cut.

“Well, he’s everyone’s king now” Jon said, with a sarcastic smile.

She wanted to slap him.

“No” she corrected, her hands nicely folded in her lap, her back straighter than ever. “The North didn’t bend the knee to him. You are a northerner, just as much as I am-“

“I was born at Dorne. Rhaegar Targaryen was my father” Jon muttered, as if it annoyed him.

Sansa rolled her eyes.

It was like he really wanted to be punished for saving everyone’s lives, after all.

Well, maybe he was just that daft. He had made many mistakes. Maybe this was just another one.

Maybe he was just stupid.

But she wouldn’t give up on him just now.

“Lyanna Stark birthed you. And you were raised at Winterfell, as a Stark, by Ned Stark. You were always a Stark in everything but name. You once described yourself as a ‘northern fool’, as I can recall.”

Jon closed his eyes, taking a long breath.

“I know you never had a taste for politics, but politics matter. And so do laws and all that stuff you always found boring” she tried to smile, her hand gently caressing his elbow. “But a ‘northern fool’ doesn’t have to bend to a southern king’s will.”

Still, he said nothing, his knuckles white on the arms of his chair.

“Do you remember what Lyanna Mormont said the day they made you king?” she asked, and he opened his eyes again, though he was making a point out of not looking at her. “She said that she knew no king but the King in the North, whose name is Stark. She said the North remembers.”

“What do you mean?”

Ah, there was hope there, now. Hope, in the eyes who had rode to battle against Ramsay Bolton even though he knew he didn’t have enough men. He had saved her and she had saved him. It was time to do the same again.

“Well, I mean that the North remembered. The North remembered, and they know no king – or queen – for the matter, but the Queen in the North. I’m their queen now.”

“I know that. It’s a bit obvious!” he rumbled. But she had his attention.

She huffed. He was making this so much harder than it really needed to be.

“Well, if it’s so obvious, as Queen in the North I have the power to release all of my subjects from all charges my people find excessive.”

Jon shook his head again.

But she had his ear.

Sansa caught both his hands, clutching them tightly to bring him back to earth.

“Technically you are my subject, Jon. Not Bran’s. So he can’t pass this… this… life sentence on you. He doesn’t have the authority to do so.”

His frown relaxed.

“Your people want you home, Jon. They want their saviour to receive his just reward” she told him, her voice calm now. He clutched her hands as well, as if he had finally decided to fight. “I want you home. I _need_ you home. _Our_ home.”

Her voice failed her, and tears filled his eyes.

“Our home” he repeated, and leaned forward to kiss her forehead, his hand on the back of her head.

Sansa shivered. But not from the cold.

He kept his warm lips against her skin for what felt like an eternity, and still not long enough, his breath ruffling the hairs on top of her head.

She swallowed thickly.

Jon pulled away instantly, clearing his throat.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Sansa” he apologized, letting his hands fall back at his sides. “I shouldn’t-“

“They want me to marry” she blurted out, and Jon shook his head sharply, his brow furrowed again. Sansa cupped his cheek, his beard caressing her palm, trying to sooth him. But she was feeling nervous too. “The North needs an heir, but- Please, Jon, I… Please, I need you.”

No, not nervous. She was terrified. Terrified that someone else was making decisions for her once more.

It was Jon’s turn to straighten his back, his hand around her wrist so he could kiss her knuckles. Sansa shivered again.

“I promised I’d protect you” he said, his voice low. “And I shall keep my promise. I owe you that much. You won’t have to marry anyone.”

He smiled at her, but it was forced.

“And it will be nice to be home again. It was good being here, with no lords irking me up all the time” he tried to joke, but Sansa’s heart was racing too much for her to laugh. “But I miss home.”

Sansa took another long breath.

It was her only hope. It was her only hope and she needed to at least ask him.

It was madness. He would laugh of her. Or he would rather stay here, and never speak to her ever again.

But she needed to try.

“That’s not true, Jon” she whispered, as if she was afraid he might hear her. “I’ll have to marry, eventually. I won’t leave the North unprotected once I’m gone.”

“They can chose a new king, just like the Six Kingdoms will after Bran’s gone” he assured her, brushing her hair from her shoulder and then soothing it. “You’re still young, Sansa, you shouldn’t worry about it.”

“You know the North doesn’t work like that” she spat, realising too late he was indeed too thick to wrap his head around that simple notion. Maybe his time away from the laws of men had made him forget how the world worked. “And I can’t not worry about it, Jon. They’re my people, and a queen has a duty to listen to her people. They want someone with the Stark name ruling the North, and they shall have one.”

“Well, make your sister your heir, then” Jon suggested, shrugging.

“No! No, Jon, I won't force that responsibility on her!” she shook her head, and she could feel her eyes almost popping out of her face. No. No. She wouldn’t do that. Arya didn’t deserve such weight on her shoulders. “Ever. You know she doesn’t want it.”

Jon sighed, hiding his hands between his face, as if defeated.

“I’d make heirs for you, if I could” He waved his hand around, the other still covering his eyes. “Marry some lady they chose for me and you could name our children your heirs, if you wanted to. But I don’t have the Stark name.”

She put her hand on his shoulder, trying both to get his attention and draw some strength for him.

_I’m the blood of Winterfell. Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn’s daughter._

_As brave as Robb._

“You don’t. But I do”

The room fell silent.

Sansa could hear her heartbeat, loud in her ears, almost as loud as her own breathing. She heard other voices too, distant. Maybe in the courtyard. Men shouting orders. Horses neighing. She heard the ruffle of Jon’s clothing as he slowly, so slowly, raised his face from his hand, and looked at her as if she had said the sun rose in the west.

“What are you suggesting?”

She stuttered with her own words. She had practised the speech a thousand times in her head. And still it made no sense.

“It’s a clean solution, if you think about it” she tried to use reason. Reason always calmed her nerves, while she fidgeted with the sleeves of her dress now. “It would tie you definitely to the North, and you’d be home again. No one could ever send you away. Isn’t that what you wish?”

He turned his body towards her, and this time there was a full smile on his face. One that wasn’t forced.

“I… I do, Sansa. You know that’s all I’ve ever wanted” he assured her. “To be home, with you. The three of you. I never wanted to leave, and you know that. I’ve always fought for the North. That’s all I’ve ever wanted”

He took a long breath.

“But Sansa, you’d impose on yourself the same fate you don’t want for your sister” Jon pointed out, and his smile was replaced by the thick wrinkles of his forehead “You’d be stuck with someone you don’t love once more.”

She looked at his hand on her lap.

It scorched her skin. It scorched her heart.

_Stupid girl, with stupid dreams._

“I wouldn’t” she muttered.

“What?” he shrieked, taking his hand away as if it burned too.

Sansa gulped.

“I wouldn’t” she repeated, her voice steadier. “I wouldn’t be stuck. With someone I don’t love, that is.”

“Sansa, I’m not talking about that kind of love. I mean, you know what producing an heir actually implies, don’t you?”

“I’m not talking about that kind of love, either.” Sansa doubted he could have heard her.

Jon run his hand through his hair.

She should go, now.

She was asking too much of him, of course.

Stupid. Stupid girl.

She had learnt nothing.

“Since when?” he asked, and his gaze upon her was too much to bare. “Since when, Sansa? Tell me, I deserve to know.”

“I… I don’t know. You were my brother, but then again you were never really my brother.” She felt her face burn now, her throat dry. Sansa bit her lip, trying to find the strength to continue. And then she couldn’t help herself anymore “And then you came back with… With her. And you were in love with her. You really were. And it hurt so much. So much, that you would give our home to her, and follow her. And then you weren’t my brother anymore and I couldn’t-“

He kissed her, then.

Not on her forehead, as he seemed to prefer, but on her lips. A proper kiss, with a hand at the back of her head, the other at her waist, pulling her to him, his lips moving gently against hers, making her gasp in surprise as she tangled her fingers in his hair, glad he didn’t have that small knot anymore.

That was what a proper kiss felt like, then.

A sweet tingling, at the back of her head, and a warmth all over, with Jon’s arms wrapped around hers, his hard chest pressed against her, his strong heartbeat just as fast as hers.

And hope, a stupid hope, bloomed in her chest. That he might not love her, but he could learn. Or he might never really love her, but he would be good to her. Maybe she would never have it all, but at least she would have this.

He laughed, when they parted.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, stroking his beard and licking her lips.

“Why am I getting everything?” he whispered, running his fingers down her hair and making her shiver. “What have I done to deserve to return home with the woman I’ve loved for so long?”

Sansa grinned at him, tears of joy filling her eyes as she threw herself in his arms once more, kissing his cheek, his nose, his jaw, his neck. Any part of him she could reach, as she cried, and cried, and cried, finally letting many unshed tears run down her cheeks when their lips met once more.

“Then come home Jon. Come home with me” she pleaded.

He rested his forehead against hers, licking his lips.

“I will, Sansa. We’ll go home” he vowed. “Together.”

**Author's Note:**

> PS: if you want you can leave your requests in the comments.  
> I realise canon has made a stupid decision and I've decided to ignore it.


End file.
